


Tall Tales

by sarahgene12



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8105350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahgene12/pseuds/sarahgene12
Summary: Modern AU. Alfie Boe's Valjean and Earl Carpenter's Javert. Javert slept at Valjean's apartment and has awoken to find he likes causing trouble for the diminutive mayor.





	

Javert awoke feeling as though he’d gone to bed inside a cloud.   
There was a high-vaulted ceiling of purest white arching out overhead, furthering this dream; other than the single crack running straight down the middle, all the way to the opposite wall, he might have been floating through fog.  
He was in bed. Certainly not his own, it was too luxurious. He could barely see over the duvet, also white, and his head had sunk so far into the pillow (or, pillows, there were four) that it was like wearing a big pair of earmuffs.  
After a long struggle, Javert managed to sit up in bed, just in time to see Madeleine push through the door with a big tray. He looked radiant, and far more awake than Javert thought sane at this hour of the morning; the sky outside his window was a perfect shade of lilac.  
“Ah, good! You’re awake! I trust you slept well?” Madeleine carefully set aside the tray on the bedside table, and quickly began the ritual of fixing the Inspector’s cup of tea. “Would you like milk?”  
Javert shook his head, running his fingers through his mass of dark curls self-consciously. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this, sir, I assure you if the circumstances had allowed—”  
But Madeleine waved him away, pushing up his shirtsleeves. “Nonsense. A body needs sleep. Now, I’m afraid I’ve only toast and cornflakes. I don’t know if you remember but the kitchen is—well they have one of those—what do you call them? Hanger racks, I think. For the pots and pans? Well, call me foolish but we haven’t yet purchased a step stool and when Cosette is not around I’m rendered completely useless. Can’t reach the blasted things.”  
Javert snorted into his tea, and was immediately horrified with himself. He swallowed hard and snatched a piece of toast from the plate. He chewed slowly.   
“Apologies, monsieur.”  
When he looked up, the mayor was grinning. “Javert, I promise you, if you don’t cut seriously down on your apologies I shall start to feel guilty myself. You’re perfectly right, it is funny, a grown man who can’t use his kitchen without his daughter about.”   
Javert smiled thinly. “I could certainly retrieve something for you, monsieur, if you are in need.”  
Madeleine patted the policeman’s knee amiably; Javert started at the sudden touch, nearly upsetting his tea. His narrow face blushed scarlet.   
“Thank you very much, Javert. Eat your breakfast first, then we shall see.”  
And with that he left the inspector to it, walking out of the room in a way that was almost like a shuffle.   
It was much different to the stately stride Javert had known in his years in the mayor’s employ, but then he supposed most men walked differently when they were in a nightshirt and trousers than they did in their suits.   
It also occurred to him that he’d never thought of Monsieur le Maire as short, until the man had mentioned his troubles in the kitchen. The picture which grew in Javert’s head made him chuckle quietly, secretively. He drained his tea.  
Out in the front room, Madeleine gazed up at the pots and pans, hung neatly in four rows, just out of his reach. On a whim, he stepped up onto his tip-toes and reached for one. His fingertips just barely kissed the rim of the lowest skillet. He cursed, and somewhere behind him he heard someone chuckle in a low voice.   
“I’m afraid it’s a useless venture, Monsieur. You should have someone adjust them for you. How do you manage?”  
This time, Javert thought Madeleine’s smile seemed a bit sad. “My daughter is usually here to help me. She’s been spending a lot of time away from me lately.”  
Javert cleared his throat, crossing the room. “Ah. Well, she seems like a fine young woman, I’m sure it’s nothing perilous. This one here?” He pointed at the nearest pan.   
Madeleine nodded, eyebrows raised. He turned, and found himself at quite an intimate position with the inspector’s chin. “Perilous? Good heavens, no. Erm, pardon me.” He ducked under Javert’s raised arm and away, feeling his ears burning hot.   
Javert unhooked the skillet and brought it down on the counter. He cleared his throat again, uncomfortably. “So has she found herself a—well—is there a young man she is interested in?”  
Again Madeleine fixed him with an expression which suggested he was failing miserably at his attempt at casual conversation. It was a slightly pitying look, and Javert hated it.   
“I think so,” said the mayor. “Marius? Pontmercy? I believe his father was a rather important man in the war.”  
The skillet in the inspector’s hands fell to the floor with a tremendous crash.   
“Damn! Excuse me, monsieur, I wasn’t thinking. I’ll clean it.”  
“No, no, that’s fine, I’ll just get a new one. Are you quite alright?”  
“What? Oh yes, thank you. I think I know the young man you mentioned. I had him help me track down a few bits of information, once or twice. I was surprised to find that he was your daughter’s suitor. Just that. Do you—excuse me, monsieur, do you need help?”  
Madeleine was back at the island, stretching up towards another one of the pans on its hook. His tongue stuck out between his teeth, and his face was contorted into such a look of determination that Javert felt something like a great wave of amused affection for the mayor overtake him. And he was surprised, shocked even, to find it there.  
“Monsieur, please, I can just reach up and—”  
“No, no, I’ve got it! Thank you, Inspector, but if I can just—” With a grunt of effort, Madeleine hoisted himself up onto the countertop, reached deftly upwards, and retrieved the pan. He held it aloft, smiling in that way he had when he was with his daughter, or the homeless children on the square.   
“There, you see? Simple enough. At least until I can buy a stepladder!”  
The good mayor’s pride in himself was so obvious, and the sight of his bare feet swinging gleefully at least a foot above the floor so laughable, that the inspector did just that: he laughed.   
Then, still chuckling to himself a little, wearing a devilish grin, he took the pan from Madeleine, his grey eyes gleaming—and hung it up upon the highest hook, well above his head, let alone the mayor’s.


End file.
